Tears of the Eldar
by Lou-deadfroggy
Summary: Glorfindel followed Turgon to Middle Earth and with him braved all grief and battle. His friendships with Galadriel, Ecthelion and Erestor created the foundations on which great deeds would be done. From the Flight of the Noldor to the Fall of Gondolin.
1. Chapter 1

**Tears of the Eldar**

**Chapter One**

He was speaking again, Glorfindel noted, and all were listening. He had not stopped, this bright figure upon the hill. All around him the others watched, enraptured by the figure's words. Glorfindel looked instead at his father who stared unblinking at the elf on the hill. His uncle stood there too, closer as was his right.

Fëanor kept speaking, although Glorfindel wished he would stop. The words made him uneasy, this talk of betrayal. Of leaving. Yet it was how true they sounded that worried him the most. He did not want to accept that Fëanor's words were right, he did not want to accept that they were prisoners.

"There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them." Fëanor shouted. Glorfindel could not remember a time before Aman, when his people still dwelt beyond the sea. He had been born in Valinor, as had his parents and his aunt and uncle. He knew nothing else, the lands of which Fëanor spoke were alien to him. "Come away! Let the cowards keep this city!" Glorfindel turned to look around him again, spying another golden head among the dark Noldor.

"Artanis," he whispered as he ran to her. They were of an age, both too young to know of this Middle Earth Fëanor spoke of. She however was watching her half-uncle with avid interest. "He means to make us leave," Glorfindel murmured.

"Hush, he is right, we are kept here. Be silent, Glor." She took his arm and held a finger up to silence him. Glorfindel turned from her, more worried than before. He did not think they would be held against their will, not by the Valar who were good to them, surely? "Think of it, Glor. Lands, realms when there is no space here. Why should you be of no consequence when your uncle is a Prince? We used to play of ruling, when we were children. Do you not wish to carve out your own name in a new land?"

"No," he said sourly, looking up at Fëanor. "This is wrong, this has to be wrong." Again she bade him be silent so that she could listen.

"Aye, wrong it is," said her brother Finrod who stood beside them. "And foul are his words. Do not heed him, Glor, nor my sister." Galadriel sent him a withering glare but was silent and they listened, Glorfindel drawing closer to Finrod as Fëanor's words put fear into his heart.

"Fair shall be the end, though long and hard shall be the road!" Fëanor cried. Glorfindel turned to Finrod who shared his look of dismay.

"They shall go," Finrod told him. "Look at them, they shall go." Glorfindel made to reply but Fëanor fell silent and there was not a sound upon the hill for a moment. Ominous their silence was and they waited.

Then Fëanor swore an oath and the silence was one of shock. Glorfindel watched, aghast as the seven Princes, sons of Fëanor took out their swords and swore as well. No being, be they Valar, elf, Man or any other creature would stop the eight that stood upon the hill in their quest. The other elves shrank back at the names Fëanor called to witness his oath.

"It shall never leave them, to the ends of the Earth and beyond, they shall know no rest until they have those jewels, and they drag us with them into this abyss." Finrod had turned away, moving through the crowds towards his father. Glorfindel felt Galadriel take his hand and they pushed after him.

"You do not know what you have done, brother!" Fingolfin cried to Fëanor. Behind him came his brother Finarfin and with them Finrod and Turgon. Still Galadriel had a hold of Glorfindel's hand and she pulled him forwards to stand with her father and brothers. He could not see his own parents, but his uncle Turgon stood there with them.

"There again is the betrayal that is so readily in your mind!" replied Fëanor. "I mean to take back what is mine and lead my people out of this bondage."

"Lead them into darkness and misery. You claim to wish to free us of bondage yet you chain yourself with your oath!"

"That you are too craven to take to win back our treasures and to avenge our father!" The two brothers moved in circles, their children watching anxiously from beside them.

"It is madness to take such an oath," Turgon called out. Glorfindel would have gone to him and been with his uncle but Galadriel held onto him and he stayed with her, as he always did, a good little friend and playmate.

"You dare call your King mad?" Curufin shot back with his brothers shouting back at Turgon. Suddenly they had their hands on their swords, Curufin had unsheathed his and seemed ready to strike his cousin.

"Please, calm yourselves," came Finarfin's soft voice. "Brothers, be not hasty lest we do things that cannot be undone." Slowly the weapons were put away.

"Their oath cannot be undone," Fingolfin told his brother. "Fëanor seeks to lead our people forth and pays no heed to the consequences."

Glorfindel watched silently as they argued, the crowds around them debating among themselves. He said nothing, for by rights he should not have been with the princes but with his father down below since he was Turgon's nephew by marriage and had no noble Noldo blood. He wished Galadriel would let him go and he could slip away from the argument he had no say in. Had they asked he would have sided with Fingolfin, he did not want to believe that the great Valar would keep them there for their own purposes. It seemed to drag on, Finarfin barely keeping his brothers, nephews and sons from striking blows at each other.

"Let us be away, father!" Galadriel said at last, echoed by Fingon. Glorfindel backed away as soon as she let go of his hand, shrinking back so that none could think he had a part in it.

"It is folly," Fingolfin murmured. "Yet you have swayed the others. Sway our people and I shall come, for I will not let them go alone." He turned then, beckoning Turgon and Finrod with him. Turgon nodded sharply to Glorfindel who scurried to him as they left the hill without another look at Galadriel. "Stay," Fingolfin said to his son and to Finrod. "I cannot bear to hear what else is said here. Come to me when our people have decided their fate and we shall go whither they will." The three younger elves were left alone in the street as Fingolfin walked off, his dark head disappearing into the shadows between the torches.

"Glorfindel?" Turgon asked him gently and he looked at his uncle. "What say you to this?"

"It is evil's doing," replied Glorfindel and glanced back at the hill. "Do you mean to go, my Lords?"

"We shall see. Go, find my wife and her sister, I would be glad to know that all of you are safely with my father." Dismissed, Glorfindel ran down to where he had left his parents. He stopped in his tracks as he heard them arguing with another elf.

"Glorfindel." His father glared at him, un-amused. "You were on the hill top, what is to be decided?"

"I was bid fetch you and my Lady Aunt to Prince Fingolfin," he answered. "It would appear that-" Fëanor's voice rose once again from the hill and his father looked away.

"Let us be gone at once! To seek out these new lands and treasures and to win back our freedom and our most beautiful work!" A cheer went up at that and Glorfindel saw Finarfin protest to his brother. "Nay, let us be gone!" Then the crowds were moving away, rushing to their homes to gather what Feanor was telling them to take.

"Come, father," Glorfindel begged. "Let us join the others, please?"

"We are leaving," said his mother proudly, looking more of a Noldo than a Vanya. "And we shall not heed them once we arrive."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

They started out three days after Fëanor led the first host. Glorfindel found himself walking behind his father, a pack strapped to his shoulders and a sibling hanging on each arm. The twins, Isowen and Maltion jabbered away incessantly in their excitement. He was glad to learn that neither had heard Fëanor's speech, tucked away with their aunt and Idril. Hence they thought the expedition nothing more than a morning stroll, an adventure. Others shared their excitement and Glorfindel heard older voices rise in song and laughter. For each smile there was a grave face that turned back every other step, weighed down not only by the packs they bore but by the homes they left behind.

He carried mostly food and clothes, with only one small parcel wrapped in cloth that contained what could be called treasures. He had given in and stuffed a few of the twins' playthings in alongside his bed roll, knowing that they would want them later when the novelty of the march wore out. His parents each had a similar pack, as did every adult in the train. The twins had a tiny satchel they carried full of their miniature clothes.

He tried to listen to them, repressing the urge to look back too often. Around them the people who followed his father under Turgon marched in one company near the van. Someone had started a marching tune and the host travelled in a shroud of noise and song. Glorfindel had a vague awareness of where Galadriel was, marching even further forward than his own company.

"Excuse me, my lord?" a voice called from behind him. Glorfindel waited for his father to turn around, jumping when a hand tapped his shoulder. "Are you the one they call Glorfindel?" A wide grinning face presented itself to him, dark eyes smirking at him with amusement.

"Yes." No one called him lord, his father had more right to that title than him.

"Lord Turgon sent me to bring you to him. He was correct in saying I did not need any description but your name."

"And yours?" Glorfindel asked as he flagged down a cousin to hand the twins to.

"Ecthelion. Are you coming?" Free of his siblings, Glorfindel followed after him through the host. Ecthelion wore a blue and silver cloak with an emblem of a fountain on the back, which Glorfindel failed to recognise.

Turgon walked at the very rear of the host, Finrod beside him. Another host followed under Finarfin, only just leaving the gates of Tirion behind them.

"Does your father have need of you?" Turgon asked as Ecthelion and Glorfindel approached.

"Only to watch the twins."

"Good, stay with us awhile. My thanks, Ecthelion." The blue-garbed elf bowed and Glorfindel found himself returning the grin that came his way as he left. "We have barely left the city yet we march divided." Their people had split into two factions, one taking Fëanor as King the other firmly supporting Fingolfin, Turgon's father. "Your father would follow us out of duty, yet it seems to me is of a like mind to Fëanor."

"He wishes to carve out a name," answered Glorfindel, frowning at the ground.

"And you?" He shrugged.

"I wish to go home and commit this folly to history. Let the twins have their grand adventure and at the end of the day we shall return and hope that our betrayal went unnoticed."

"Then turn around, Glor," said Finrod. "There are still some left in Tirion. Go home if that is what you want."

"I will not leave my family, not my siblings nor my cousins!" Glorfindel answered at once, slightly louder than he intended to. The two princes smiled at each other.

"Then you come for the noblest reason." Turgon gripped his shoulder to placate him. "What of your father's kin? Those who took him as lord to follow me."

"My father and his brothers follow for glory, my cousins will not be parted from them. I should think that many do desire to leave, and just as many wish to stay." Turgon sighed and did not ask another question for a long while. Glorfindel looked for Galadriel's fair head, of those of Vanyar descent there were very few with them and he hoped to pick her out again easily. It was as much an adventure for her as it was for the twins, though she was not a child who dragged a doll along by the ankle anymore. Part of him wished they were, he would gladly suffer through being made to play whatever role her tiny highness required. Somehow he had been included in her nursery, perhaps because none of her brothers or cousins were as young as she was, save the youngest sons of Fëanor who were kept apart by their father. She marched ahead, eager to lead yet not wanting to take Fëanor as king in his host.

"My brothers heed our sister above our father," Finrod murmured. "Stretched out like this we will be cut off easily from the first host, and the last if they do not hurry." All three looked back at Tirion in the distance and the banners of the sons of Indis marching away from it. "Artanis can easily ignore any word he sends for he is too far behind."

"No doubt we shall stop to rest and then they will join us." Turgon smiled at his friend. "Worry not, one thing is certain, we shall all be together in this."

"Not all of us." Then Turgon again fell silent and Glorfindel knew better than to say anything. Finrod left his love behind, for she was Vanya and would not come with them. Glorfindel wondered what his father would have done had his mother not been permitted to leave. He wished it had been so, then he would not be marching away from his home.

Finrod called a halt after several hours of walking. They began to set up camp, each family and house forming its own compound. Behind them the could still see Tirion and the host of the sons of Indis. Glorfindel left his uncle and Finrod to find his family.

"Turgon sent for me," he offered as explanation the moment he saw his mother's scowl. Maltion demanded that his brother lift him up and Glorfindel complied as they gathered around the campfire. With everyone finally seated nearby he could start to see who had come and who had stayed. Some cousins were missing, and a few of the distant wanders who had never really been part of the family.

"We should reach Alqualondë in two days' time," his father said as plates were handed out. Glorfindel placed Maltion next to him, his dark haired brother silent at last as he ate.

"It will be good to say farewell to our friends before we leave," murmured Glorfindel. He wished he did not have to leave his friends among the Teleri, although it would be less painful than saying farewell to the Noldor they had left in Tirion.

"Fëanor's host will have reached them by now." His father chaffed at Finrod and Turgon's delay, and at that of the last host as well. No wonder their house was leading the van of this second group.

The twins fell asleep almost at once, curled up under blankets near the fire. Despite having walked all day Glorfindel felt restless, leaving his parents to pace around the camp. He came upon another golden head at the very edge of the sprawl of fires and bedding.

"Sit," Galadriel commanded and he did so. "Look out there, far ahead. Tell me what you see."

"The road, the mountains, the stars. Beyond the mountains lies Alqualondë, we pass them tomorrow." She leaned against him so that he was forced to put his arm around her shoulders. "What do you see?"

"Nothing, merely the road." There was something in her voice that made him frown and turn to look at her.

"Artanis?"

"He is evil. Fëanor. There is evil in his words and in his heart." She pulled forward a golden tress to show him. So like his own but with more silver, the light of the two trees he dimly remembered caught within it. "He wished me to spare him this, so that he may be inspired to create his jewels. There is a darkness within him, Glor, and I fear it."

"There is darkness within us all, or the potential for it at least, surely? Fëanor's words might be evil but in his heart he wishes only to regain what was taken from him." She laughed harshly.

"You must cease defending everyone. There is no darkness in you, only golden light." She kissed his cheek and laughed again. "He wishes for more, and so do I. That is not the root of evil. Yet I shall keep what is my own treasure until one who is worthy asks for it." Artanis looked out at the road ahead again, pulling her long legs up to her chest. "Tomorrow, when we pass that hill, we shall no longer see Tirion when we look back." The thought saddened him and the reality of leaving, of never coming back made him swallow his breath back hard. "We shall look back one last time together." He had no choice but to nod. It made no difference, she was still set on going and he had to follow his people.

"There shall be a moment when we can see neither Tirion nor Alqualondë," he realised. "A few hours when there is nothing in sight except the trees and the southern pass through the mountains."

"I do not see that it matters, Glor. We shall pass through that space soon enough and reach the Teleri and their ship. Then we shall be away." Her smile at that was enough to lighten the air around her. "To Middle Earth."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

They reached the hill too soon. Glorfindel walked as slowly as he could, looking back half the time.

"Glor!" Galadriel had waited, standing tall by the side of the road as others passed her by. He stood beside her, climbing up to the rocky summit. "Tirion upon Túna."

"Home." He looked back at the column stretched out behind them and realised with a start that it was Fingolfin's host rather than their own. He had managed to fall to the very rear of Fingon's company.

"One final look?" Ecthelion's voice came up behind them. "Lord Fingon has me ushering people onwards or else this pass would be blocked."

"We shall remain a moment," Galadriel told him, one step away from a sneer. In apology Glorfindel shot him an anxious smile.

"As you wish, my lady."

"Cousin!" Idril came from the other side of the hill, running up with her plait bouncing around her shoulders. "I have already had my look but I have run away to have another." The three of them stood there, looking at their bright city in the distance.

"Come. To Alqualondë." Galadriel turned first, taking Turgon's daughter by the hand.

"Glorfindel?" He waved Idril away and heard the girls leave.

"It makes you wonder at the sanity of this," said Ecthelion. "Looking back you begin to think that nothing could be as beautiful as that." Tall towers, marble walls and graceful arches, Glorfindel agreed with him. Nothing could match Tirion.

"Why come then?" Ecthelion laughed at him.

"The same reason you do. Family, and adventure. What else is there to do? Stay and make pretty things for the rest of time? Dance and sing and make music? No, there is something more than that." He was grinning at him. "Come on, I really must move you on, lord or not." Glorfindel turned and stepped down, glancing back once more before he let Ecthelion lead him back to the road.

"We are the last ones," he said. There was a gap between Fingolfin's van and them, but not a large one. "I should re-join my uncle."

"I think he is busy scolding Lady Idril for coming back. Do not look so glum, it is an adventure." Glorfindel made himself share Ecthelion's grin. "It starts with seeing Alqualondë." Then they were walking quickly though the host, making their way towards the front.

"Glorfindel!" Turgon, Fingon and Finrod walked together, the former catching his nephew by the arm. "Watch Idril for me, she keeps vanishing from my sight."

"Yes, uncle."

The four of them, Glorfindel and Ecthelion having found Idril and Galadriel, walked together in the van. They were in the passes between the plains around Tirion and the coast, foothills flanked them and ahead lay the sea road.

"My grandfather will give us ships, doubtless Fëanor and his people are already at sea." Galadriel strode ahead, keeping their pace up. Without Tirion to look back at Glorfindel found he no longer dreaded the voyage quite do much. The others' sense of adventure won out and he joined them when they picked up another marching song.

"Lord Fingon!" A group of elves were running back towards the company.

"What is it?" called Galadriel.

"Alqualondë, there is fighting in the port." All songs stopped.

"Why? Who is attacking?" Galadriel had stepped forward, those around her giving way to Finarfin's daughter.

"It- we cannot tell. Fëanor's people are fighting the Teleri." The three lords were there suddenly, a group of the lesser leaders behind them. Glorfindel simply stood there, aghast. The Teleri had no reason to attack them, unless they had been ordered to prevent their going.

"Form up!" Fingon cried. "Turgon, Finrod, call your warriors. We must go to Fëanor's aid."

"Should we not find out what has happened? How can it be that our own kin draw swords against us?" Finrod had a hand on his cousin's arm, slowing him down.

"We shall not find that out here. Gather those that can fight. Now, cousin!" Turgon was pushed away by his brother, the lords scattering.

"Glorfindel, Ecthelion, gather your houses. Idril, return to your mother at once."

"I will find the twins," she promised Glorfindel. About them people ran to fetch weapons or find children, those who could use arms hurried to the forefront.

"There can be no good of this. The Teleri are our kin, we cannot take arms against them," Turgon called.

"They have taken arms against us, against the Noldor with Fëanor," answered Fingon. "Come, unless you are craven, brother." They had passed the corner and could see Alqualondë below, the beginnings of fires letting off smoke that had not yet had a chance to climb high into the air. "Noldor! With me!" Fingon and those who had formed up behind him quick marched forward. Glorfindel watched, always half running closer to the port. The sounds of fighting reached them soon enough, metal on metal, the sound of bows and screams.

"Glorfindel!" His father was there then, handing him his sword and breastplate. Glorfindel was forced into the armour, a helmet jammed onto his head. "Come."

"Father, we do not know what has happened. We cannot draw swords on the Teleri. It could have been Fëanor who started this quarrel."

"They have attacked our kin." He would say no more, no matter what Glorfindel said to him as they marched.

"Glor, do not stop. We must help them." They were in the streets, low grey buildings forced them to fall into smaller lines and Galadriel's sword appeared before she did. The cobblestones had been dyed red in some places. Sparring, practice, all that Glorfindel had seen before, blood spilled from flesh wounds. Death did not come in Valinor, now it stared at them from the street.

"Come away, Artanis," he begged, taking a hold of her arm. "Come back, please." With an angry glare she pulled away from him and he lost sight of her. Glorfindel looked forward at the rain of arrows and blows. No, he refused to believe it could be happening. "Adar! Adar!" Someone came at him with a sword and he parried, side stepping away from them. Glorfindel lost sight of anyone he recognised, all blades out to slice at him and no friendly faces.

He ran. Away from the fighting, from the arrows and the blood. Perhaps he was a coward but it was wrong to shed elven blood when they did not know the reason.

"Ecthelion." The dark haired elf grasped his shoulder. "Let us go back. There is naught we can do." He was crying, he realised and Ecthelion merely nodded. Then the cries went up from the port.

"The ships," Ecthelion whispered. "They have taken the ships." Sailing out into the harbour were the ships of the Teleri, some aflame, most filled with people. "Fëanor has the ships."

"Your blade." Glorfindel ignored the ships, looking down at Ecthelion's sword.

"They- they came at me. I-" Glorfindel pushed him away, his feet taking him in a random direction. The fighting had spread, they were around him again and somewhere he heard his name being called. His blade met another, blue eyes staring at him from under a helmet. He let the elf go, shoving him to the ground without following his strokes through. It would have been so easy, to cut down when the other was so desperately trying to cut at him. Glorfindel was running again, away from the elf he had almost killed. The eyes stayed with him, hovering before his vision. Eyes full of anger and fire.

"Glorfindel!" That time it was Turgon and Glorfindel collapsed in his uncle's arms. "Are you hurt, tithen pen?" He shook his head, keeping his eyes closed. If there was blood on his uncle's blade he did not want to look. "Come, come back." Turgon held him up and together they staggered out of the port.

Turgon sat him down on the grass, pulling his helmet off. They stayed silent, Glorfindel leaning into his shoulder. The images of the streets, bodies when he had never seen a body before, lying inert underfoot.

"It is a terrible thing." Turgon's voice was empty, numb. "Can you stand?" He pulled the younger elf up. "Your blade is clean, Glor. Remember that."

Slowly the trickle of wounded and soiled elves crawled back up the hill to the rest of the host. Ecthelion caught his eye but stayed away, Glorfindel could not make himself apologise or even speak to anyone. He walked, dreamlike to where he saw his house's symbol flying high. A golden orb and leaf flapping in the breeze. He looked for his parents but they did not come.

"Glor?" a tiny voice asked. Isowen came and sat next to him once he had removed his armour. "What is happening?" He patted his sister's head gently.

"Where is Naneth?" She looked down at the flames below them and gave a small stiffed sob. Glorfindel felt his stomach hit the ground. Not just his father, his mother had taken out her sword and joined the ranks.

"I could not stop either of them," Idril said, his brother trailing along behind her. Glorfindel clasped both the twins to him, trying to keep his tears at bay. The age gap was huge, he was an adult albeit a young one when they were barely able to string sentences together and be trusted to walk along calmly. He turned back to the fire pit that was Alqualondë, searching for a golden helmet that would hide a parent.

"It is just the three of us for a while. Naneth and Ada shall return shortly. Come, let us go and find the cousins."

"Glorfindel." Idril held him back. "They will come back." He nodded blankly. They might, but if they did what would happen? They would have elven blood on their hands.

Turgon gathered them all up together, an extended family all sitting silently in a heap. Glorfindel had the twins on his lap, Idril next to him and her mother on the other side. Turgon paced, looking for his brother Fingon in the stream pouring up from Alqualondë.

"Turgon!" Running from the empty road came four elves. Fingolfin clasped his son to him at once. "What has happened here?"

"Fëanor took the ships by force, we did not know who was to blame. Fingon led us down upon the Teleri. Wickedness was done here, father."

"Where is your brother?"

"I know not." As fast as Glorfindel tried to look away, he did not miss Fingolfin pulling out his son's sword. To his relief it was clean. "Never."

"Keep them here. All of them. Finarfin!" The brothers descended without their swords.

"We should return to Tirion," Elenwë told her husband. Turgon merely sighed. "Fëanor is gone, is fire shall go with him and his sons."

"We shall see." Glorfindel hugged the twins closer at his uncle's tone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

They did not all come back. Glorfindel sat for hours with the twins and his uncle, waiting. His heart rose slightly at a blonde head, but it turned away and did not come to their banners. He was deaf and blind to the world around him, seeing only the stream of faces and hearing nothing but the screams that he was no longer sure were part of the soundscape of Alqualondë or his own imaginings.

"Glor-"

"They will come." Idril had tried to make them move half a dozen times over the last hour but it was pointless. Glorfindel refused to show the twins he had given up hope. Their parents would return, they would trudge up the slope and their swords would be clean. Maltion had fallen asleep in his lap, Isowen well on the way to joining her twin. Still no one came to them.

"Glorfindel," Turgon had approached them where his daughter had failed. "I want to know how many of your house are still with us. Get up, tithen pen." The difference between the order and the endearment stirred him into movement. He lay the twins back down under Idril's watchful eye.

"I cannot," he whispered to his uncle. "I cannot do what it is you ask of me." Turgon looked at him grimly.

"I was not giving you a choice. Gather your house together, Glorfindel."

"Please." Turgon pushed him away gently. Glorfindel could not lead his house, he could barely keep himself from sobbing. He had the twins, surely Turgon could see that he was no lord ready to lead others. Into what, he did not know. "Uncle!" Turgon did not reply.

Somehow he found the will to move between the tiny campfires, finding his Father's brothers and their children, his more distant cousins and everyone he could count as kin. He found, just as easily that many were missing. Mothers, sons, cousins, all had gone down to the ships and had not returned. Every chance he got he turned to the burning city but the steam of those returning had dwindled until Fingon no longer set a watch for them.

"Glorfindel." At last Turgon found him. "Come." Glorfindel looked one last time at Alqualondë. "We cannot linger here. Get your people up. Now, tithen pen." Slowly the host of the Noldor gathered themselves and began to flee Alqualondë. Glorfindel sent his people on under his Father's brothers, past the point of caring if their blades were clean or not. He stood alongside the half a dozen others looking desperately for siblings, parents or lovers to come up from the flames.

It was Fingon who came back for them, pulling individuals along to join the host. Glorfindel felt someone grab his shoulder and turn him around.

"Ecthelion."

"Lord Turgon-"

"My parents are still down there. I do not care what anyone says, they have to come back." Glorfindel tugged at the dark haired elf until Ecthelion was forced to let him go.

"They are not-" Glorfindel did not hear the rest, for at that moment he caught sight of a golden head. He ran forward before anyone could stop him.

"Naneth." She looked up at him blankly as he hugged her.

"Coward," she spat at him, pushing him away. "Your father is dead, Glorfindel, cut down whilst you ran from his side." She carried on past him towards the host. Her words hit him harder than any blow could have. In the flickering lights of the flames below he saw her dirty blade and armour.

"Glorfindel?" He let Ecthelion come near, sagging under his own weight. "Onwards, my lord." Following Ecthelion's example he walked on, mind reeling. Somewhere in the fires of Alqualondë, his Father's body lay unburied. Glorfindel knew he should have been by his father's side, protecting him and fighting alongside him. The guilt mixed with anger but did not vent, leaving him numb and confused. How could something so terrible have happened so quickly?

"Glorfindel." Idril appeared, her long arms snaking around his neck. She said nothing else and he cried into her shoulder, at a loss for what else to do. Slowly she coaxed him towards the host and in silence they walked forwards.

He could not recall the days they spent walking, in the darkness that had covered the world since the darkening of Valinor there was no sense of direction or time. The fires dwindled behind them, further and further in the distance until only the echoes of the screams could be heard in his own mind and only when he closed his eyes did he see the flames. At some point they must have stopped to eat but not rest, Fingon pushed them onwards. The two separate hosts had come together, Fingolfin and Finarfin joining their children and the vanguard. Together the Noldor marched on, Glorfindel staying where he was with Idril's arm linked with his and out of sight of his father's banners.

It passed in a haze for everyone as shock and exhaustion set in. Out to sea there was a storm, wild and furious it raged along the coast as they huddled together. The ships Fëanor had stolen were washed up time and time again, but no survivors made it to shore. The air around them got colder as they passed through the mountains. Finally, when their pace had been slowed to a crawl and Glorfindel found himself carrying his own pack again as well as someone else's, they reached the border. The land ahead was foreboding, windswept and devoid of anything other than snow and bare rock.

"Glor?" How Isowen had found him he never knew, simply picking her up without noticing the added weight on his shoulders. "I found this." A tiny flower was shoved in his face. "Naneth said I could take the last one I saw." He nodded dumbly as a gasp went up from the host. Standing above them on a rocky outcropping, was a hooded figure. Glorfindel strained but could see no face. Another herald, he thought at first, sent to warn them back.

"Halt!" It was no herald's voice, the sound of it sent a shiver through his very being. "Halt and hear me." No one moved, all fixated by the figure on the rock. Although it seemed far away from where Glorfindel stood, the voice was as loud as if it was by his side. The ships of Fëanor bobbed up and down in the dark waters and he knew they heard also.

"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever." Glorfindel held his sister closer, feeling her shiver in his arms. It was Doom that the voice foretold and it darkened the ever present darkness even further.

"Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Eä, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken."

There was silence. The full silence that came from a thousand breaths all held at once. Then there was a cry from the ships and they turned to see Fëanor leave, the host that marched alongside him following.

"I will have no part in this," came Finarfin's voice. "Come home, brother! Galadriel, Finrod!" Glorfindel was aware of the vast host behind them moving away, retreating back down the path. He almost turned to go with them, taking Isowen in his arms.

"Fëanor is my brother as much as you," Fingolfin called back. The two brothers met and their conversation quietened.

"Glorfindel." Turgon had an angry look about him, staring after the ships. "Go back if that is your will, your father is gone and you have sworn no oath to come with me. Go with Finarfin." If it had been Turgon's purpose to make him leave, his words did the opposite. Glorfindel looked from his uncle to Idril and shook his head.

"I follow you," he answered. He could not leave his mother, who would follow Fëanor and take his siblings with her, nor his uncle and cousin.

"I will not halt now, not after all of this. We go forth, for what redemption or pity can we expect now?" Turgon sighed. "Come then as a lord, take a banner and wash away your father's sins." Tentatively Glorfindel stepped forward, walking with Turgon and Idril out onto the rocky plain. As he passed, he felt something change and he knew that he could not go back, but rather had left something behind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The change from the safety to the Guarded Realm, which Glorfindel had never noticed until it was absent to the cold empty expanse of the northern lands had been a slap to his face and served to bring his wits back to him. Finarfin left immediately, turning back before his people had even set foot in Araman. There was an air of suspicion among those who stayed for most of them had some sort of blame laid on them from Alqualondë. Glorfindel ended up pinching his hand every time his thoughts wandered back to the port to keep his mind on the matter in hand. Under his father's banners he gathered his house, anyone who would follow him united on the march.

He had not spoken more than a handful of words to his mother, she continued to give him cold looks that bordered on hatred. Wrapped up in grief she held the twins' hands and walked behind his father's standard. Glorfindel stayed as far from her as possible, keeping to Turgon's side.

Fëanor had re-joined them with his sons, part of his people marched as the others took the ships. They made camp together, one huge host that lacked the third contingent. In Tirion Glorfindel had only been party to councils by accident, dragged to them then left at the back by Galadriel or Turgon. Now he sat with his uncle, not quite on par with the sons and grandsons of Finwë but nearer than even his father had been. Turgon named him his lieutenant and kept him by his side. It was when it came to dividing their resources between those marching and the ships that he spoke for the first time to the gathered lords.

"Do you not trust me, brother?" Fëanor half spat at Fingolfin. "The ships can carry the supplies up the coast whilst we march."

"All I ask is that some of our host accompany the ships. Those are the possessions of every house, it would be best to have their owners watching over them."

"We are all of the same host. Do you suspect us of thievery? We do not need your lord-lings to peer over our shoulders." Glorfindel had tapped his uncle's shoulder at that point and received a nod. It suddenly dawned on him that he was expected to speak to the high lords of his people.

"My lords," he stammered, resisting the urge to flinch as they turned to him. "Would it not be wise to have an - administrator aboard each ship to distribute the supplies, as well as the crew?" Then both Fëanor's people and Fingolfin's would be present. "Subordinate to whichever captain you appoint, my lord Fëanor." Fingolfin hesitated before giving him the smallest smirks of approval. Fëanor was silent for a moment.

"Take it, father and be done with this," Maedhros told him. Glorfindel retreated back to his silence beside Turgon.

"Good," his uncle said when they left the council tent. "Listen for now and do not speak until you are sure of yourself. Then the only things they will remember you for are the best points you could make." Elenwë followed them, linking arms with her husband.

"Send them on the ships or carry them ourselves, there are not enough supplies," she said.

"We need not go much further north. Middle Earth will be in sight before we reach the Helcaraxë, then we will take the ships." Turgon's smile was genuine and Glorfindel returned it. He had to put Alqualondë behind him and embrace the journey and the thought of their destination.

"We shall have to cross in groups, it will take more than one journey to carry us all," added Elenwë.

"Then our little dove here shall sort something out." Turgon put a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. "Go on, tithen pen. Back to your people and duties." There was more to keeping a large group of people in check than Glorfindel had ever thought. Food, shelter, even keeping the ranks of cousins and hangers on together was difficult. He bade his aunt and uncle farewell.

"He is too young," Elenwë's voice murmured before he was out of earshot. "You are placing too much on his shoulders."

"It is that or his father's brother and I would rather see Fëanor lead that house than him. Glorfindel needs something, or else he would brood on his father's death and we already have your sister doing that." Eavesdropping was not something Glorfindel felt he should partake in and made himself move away from them. He had trouble making sure it was his voice and not his paternal uncle's that was heard, but he had too much to think about to object to someone else taking charge temporarily.

Ecthelion stood by the first banner that had been planted into the ground to mark Glorfindel's family's campsite. For the entire march they had not spoken, Glorfindel avoided the dark haired elf out of repulsion for the acts of Alqualondë. He would easily have been on the way to calling Ecthelion a friend, now he averted his eyes quickly.

"Lord Glorfindel?" He sighed and stopped. "I- forgive me. The Lady I followed did not return from the shore." He wanted shelter, the protection a house could give. "We are few, some dozen or so and we have our own supplies. Please, would you let us join you?" Ecthelion was staring at the ground, ashamed. "We are not blameless, there are few who are." The silence grew between them and Glorfindel knew he was being unreasonable. His own mother shared the shame, his father had died with it. It had only been luck that prevented him from being drawn in as well.

"Bring them and come and eat with us," he said finally. An olive branch from the dove, as Turgon had named him. The look of surprise on Ecthelion's face vanished quickly, replaced for half a heartbeat by a flashing grin.

"Thank you." Glorfindel passed him as he scuttled off to find those who were following him. Those who had bloodied their swords were not forgiven, merely cut a little more slack. Glorfindel had to pinch himself again to drive the memories away.

Ecthelion seated his dozen or so, closer to twenty when Glorfindel counted, near to the edge of the circle of fires that formed their camp. All were tall dark Noldor, with no children save one young ellon Glorfindel judged to be half a century away from majority at most. They seemed placid and friendly enough once he had explained to his uncle that they had his permission to be there. His father's eldest brother, Ahanion, watched them with suspicion for a while until Ecthelion joined their circle.

"It is expected that we shall spend no more than another week marching north, then Middle Earth will be within sight and we shall start ferrying across," Glorfindel announced to the conversation-less circle. The twins were quiet either side of their mother, his extended family poking at their plates without knowing how to break the frosty silence that extended between Glorfindel and his mother.

"There is nothing north of us now, no mountains or even hills. A flat empty waste is all that exists between us and the ice," Ecthelion added. "Perhaps we shall reach it and build snow forts before they ferry us across." Maltion sat up at the mention of forts.

"Glor makes angels, elves with wings in the snow," he piped. "And we throw balls at each other. Will you be on my side, Master? Then we shall be three against Glor and the girls. Gold against brown, and we shall win!" He threw a handful of dirt up to prove his point, getting a sharp reprimand immediately from their mother.

"The ice will not be pleasant," answered Ahanion. "We should cross before we reach it instead of wasting time with games." He gave Ecthelion a taste of ice in his cool golden stare.

"For a day at least the journey will seem less wearying. If there is a moment for something other than grief and marching, let us take it," said Glorfindel. He tried not to look over at Ecthelion but failed and they shared on his part a nod, on the dark haired elf's a wide grin.

"There is no cause for gaiety in you," his mother half spat. Abashed Glorfindel stared down at his bowl and pinched his thumb again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

As Ecthelion had predicted, they reached the snow line before they could see Middle Earth on the horizon. Glorfindel found that the dark haired elf made any excuse to be by his side and after a day or two of having the unlooked for grin around, he began to seek Ecthelion out on purpose. There was still the unspoken shadow between them but they worked around it. The first snow was a measly little flurry that served only to excite the twins and dismay the adults.

The second blizzard fell as they marched, forcing them to stop. Glorfindel weaved his way through the now sprawling camp of his people, smiling as he saw there was no longer the obvious divide between his family and those Ecthelion had brought with him, until he came across his uncle.

"The scout ships can see land," he told Ahanion. "Two more days' march and we shall begin to board the ships."

"Good. Count up our supplies and deliver them to Lord Curufin when he requests them." His uncle turned away, bending down to tie the guy rope of his tent. "Now, boy."

"I do not take orders from you, uncle," Glorfindel said tersely. "And we do not answer to Curufin. Lord Finrod will take our supply lists." His uncle had straightened up, glaring at him with golden eyes. Among his kin, Glorfindel stood out as broader of shoulder than a Noldo and golden-haired. He lacked any sign of his father, not even the pale gold eyes that ran in his line.

"Your father is dead, Glorfindel. You may have been chosen as Turgon's errand boy but do not presume to lead. You gave up any right to that when you left your father to die." There had been a time when Ahanion would have raised his hand against him, to chastise a young boy and teach him respect. Glorfindel had since matched his uncle's height and there was little doubt he was the stronger of the two. Ahanion merely glared at him, relying on any respect that had been instilled in his nephew before.

"You should not take pride in having fought," Glorfindel told him through gritted teeth. "You heard our doom, did you not? Turgon has placed me in control of those who will follow our banners, therefore it is to him and to Finrod we will answer." Before he could let anything else fly between them, he made himself turn away and stride towards where Ecthelion was gathering what little snow there was together to make a missile.

"I think we should leave it until dawn," he said with a grin. "Then the terrors and I will take you down." It did not stop him aiming for Glorfindel who ducked in time and the snowball hit the ground.

"Glor?" Ecthelion bowed at once as Galadriel wandered out from between the tents. If he meant to carry out his promise to himself to leave the sins of Alqualondë behind him when it came to his friends if they were truly remorseful, he had to speak with her eventually. "It will snow again while we sleep." Artanis had gone off on a tangent and he looked around, responding only with a nod. "Will you be alone against the twins and-" She searched momentarily for the lesser elf's name.

"Ecthelion."

"And Ecthelion?" He could see the tentative olive branch she was holding out and knew he would have to take it since she would never give an apology outright.

"Currently I believe I am." They shared a shy smile. "Would you care to cover my flank against them?"

"We shall have to hope it snows some more then." She stepped back into the makeshift street between the tents, their apology as far as it would go. Ecthelion shot him a confused look once she had left.

"You, my friend, will rue tomorrow for a long time."

The snow surrounded them when they woke, half a foot high and still falling in the darkness. They readied to move and Glorfindel was impressed int he time in took them to clear up. That was until he felt something cold and wet hit the back of his neck.

"Maltion." His brother did not even bother running away, dissolving instead into fits of giggles. Glorfindel returned the gesture by giving the child a face full of snow.

"I had expected something more mature of you-" Turgon began as he turned around. His sentence was never finished as his cousin appeared at that moment and Galadriel pelted him with snow. "Artanis!" In the middle of a half packed camp on the fringe of the world, with the grief of Alqualondë still hanging over them, the first sounds of laughter were heard. Turgon retaliated.

"You are with us, uncle!" Isowen cried as she missed Galadriel by a foot.

"Then I shall join Glor." Elenwë promptly covered her husband in snow.

"You started without me," Ecthelion murmured from behind Glorfindel. They both managed to hit each other simultaneously.

"Turgon!" Finrod appeared only to be hit. For a moment he simply looked stunned before he sighed. "I will ask Fingon instead." Resigned and with a wet patch on his chest, he retreated from the field of battle. Glorfindel found himself the victim of a mutiny in the ranks as Galadriel joined her brothers to pelt him and Ecthelion with snow. In all they were almost a dozen, laughing and after a while soaking wet. Glorfindel resolutely ignored his mother as she attempted to burn him on the spot with the intensity of her glare. He rose above throwing something at her or Ahanion although he desperately wished he was still young enough to vent his frustration in such a way.

"Turgon! Turgon!" It was Fingolfin who appeared, Fingon and Finrod behind him. It was his urgent tone that stopped the fight immediately, fists full of snow halting in mid-air. "Fëanor has taken the ships." They dropped their smiles along with the snow in their hands. Turgon and Elenwë turned at once to Fingolfin, Galadriel and Glorfindel following. Glorfindel thought quickly of the twins, getting a nod from Ecthelion as he silently asked him to keep an eye on everyone.

At the shore a crowd had gathered, staring at the sea. The ships Fëanor has stolen from the Teleri had flanked them as they made their way up the coast, always just beyond the shallows. As Glorfindel looked he could just make them out on the horizon.

"They gave us no word that they planned to begin the crossing," said Finrod.

"What else did you expect besides treachery from them?" his sister snapped. "They knew that there were not enough to take us all at once."

"They will come back." Glorfindel turned with everyone to look at Elenwë. Her hope seemed mislaid. "They must."

"No." Fingon swore loudly, pointing. The smudge that had been the ships and Middle Earth in the distance, was ablaze. Cries of despair and anger echoed out along Fingolfin's host. Realisation hit Glorfindel in the stomach. Fëanor and his sons were burning the ships.

"Traitors." Galadriel clasped his hand in anger, clenching it tightly.

"We cannot cross," murmured Turgon.

"You may rejoice, brother. We are forestalled and your wish to return appears to be granted." Fingon glared at his brother and Glorfindel felt himself included as well.

"Cease that," their father spat. "Those who wish may turn back at any point. The rest of us are bound to this venture. We have no choice but to carry on north." Fingolfin turned to face the oncoming blizzard as he spoke. Around them the snow lost any childish allure. The Helcaraxë stretched out before them, curving round into the distance Middle Earth. It went too far north for them to see it all, a long and dangerous route without path or direction.

"Winter," Galadriel whispered. "Winter and death."

"At least start with a cheery outlook, dear sister," Finrod pleaded gently.

"Four kings march north and in winter they fall." Galadriel's eyes had gone wide as she stared at the flames.

"Glor, will you keep her close? Do not heed what she says, it means nothing." Finrod gave him such a worried look that he nodded and drew Galadriel closer to his side.

"Glor? We must not go that way."

"Hush, Artanis, we have no choice now, unless we turn back." That stiffened her slightly but her grip on his arm was still panicked. For the first time he saw fully what had been hidden within her eyes on the road to Alqualondë. Fear and dread behind a resolve so strong.

"You will come with us, cousin?" He nodded.

"I will come." The Noldor cried out, pointing to the east in fear. Behind the burning ships, beyond the smudge of Middle Earth was a light, great and white in the sky. Instinctively, Glorfindel held Artanis closer.

"Eru, what new hell is this?" Fingon asked in the stunned silence.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"Be not afraid!" Fingolfin called. "It is a wondrous light, a beacon for us to follow!" Glorfindel stared at it and recognised the light.

"Telperion," he whispered to Artanis, placing a gentle hand in her hair. "The silver light. Look, Artanis."

"I am looking, at you rather. We need no torches toast shadows now, Glor." He glanced down and saw that she was right, the silver light caused long shadows to spill before them. Like children they moved around, marvelling at it. Glorfindel turned once again to the orb of Telperion's light and smiled. It was no hell as Fingon said. "Ever you loved it," Artanis murmured. "Long ago, you would break into smile when Laurelin faded. Only gold could love silver thusly." He frowned at her, confused before he gave up on trying to understand her and went back to staring at the orb.

"Forward! It is our beacon to Middle Earth." Fingolfin had pulled his war horn out and it echoed across the sea.

"Forward, Artanis," Glorfindel whispered. "On to this newly lit realm in the silver light."

So began their march, the silver orb gradually rising in the sky above them. After the darkness it was a welcome sight, one they did not know they longed for until they saw it. The march ahead did not look any easier in the new light, Fëanor's betrayal was not dimmed but they had some small hope with them as they walked forward in the silver light.

"I suppose we ought to name it," Ecthelion said cheerfully as they met again, a twin swinging on each of their outer arms.

"Leave that for some great chronicler," muttered Glorfindel. "A sage of some sorts. For now it is simply the large silver light in the sky."

"You are uninventive, Glor." He had, however, progressed suddenly to more friendly terms. "What would you call your House? The People who follow the golden haired Ellon?"

"No." Although Glorfindel had not spent a moment thinking of heraldry yet, he did not think he would take such an obvious approach.

"Flag," Isowen proclaimed and waved her little arm around as if holding a banner.

"She would do better to name it that you." Glorfindel crossed his eyes at Ecthelion, promptly ignoring him.

"Did we win the snow fight?" asked Maltion, trudging through the white carpet.

"Yes."

"No." Both Glorfindel and Ecthelion answered at once.

"We won, Glor!" Isowen piped up and he was outnumbered.

"I shall ask Artanis for a second opinion on that."

The twins felt the cold before they stopped, only elflings necessitated blankets and seats near the cook fires. Glorfindel saw to them and made sure the rest of his house was settled before he devoted the next hour to watching the silver orb dip down towards the west. The silver orb had passed across the sky and into darkness seven times when a new light appeared in the east, faint and pink tinged with gold.

"I knew Laurelin would come," Artanis said quietly, having taken up the space next to him with no obvious intention of returning to her own people. "Vása, the fire that awakens and consumes. The silver is for us, Glor. Memories. There is no hope in this new light, not for our people." He watched it rise, they all did, looking in wonder.

"Where have the stars gone?" Ecthelion asked suddenly. "They have vanished!" Every head turned upwards and their cries of dismay echoed around the camp.

"It is too bright, this new light," Artanis continued. "It can only burn." Glorfindel did not know quite what to make of it, the golden fire that rose in the east. It warmed them in the snow, in a way the silver light had not. His heart was not captured as it had been when the silver orb crossed the sky. There was a wonder he felt for certain, but more that of a beauty he could appreciate but not love.

"We are continuing," Turgon called from across the camp. "Few will be able to rest with that light." Tired but with no chance of respite, Glorfindel hurled the twins up and their camp was broken. It was only an hour before he ended up carrying Maltion who fell asleep on his shoulder and Artanis took Isowen. They were all exhausted by the time the same pink, red and gold explosion filled the western sky. As the world darkened they nearly fell into their camps, curling up under the stars that had thankfully returned. Glorfindel placed a twin either side of him to keep them warm as he looked at the roof of their tent in the silver light. It would take some getting used to, the constant light but he knew which one he preferred.

The snow had fallen thicker when Vása rose again in the east, the clouds forming on the horizon made its colour different to the time before. The sky was aflame with a new variation of fire, masking the stars one by one until they faded into another brilliant blue sky. Time they had begun to measure again, as they had done when the Trees lit Valinor. Days shone with the golden light of the fiery disk, nights with the soft glow of silver. Under silver they rested for the day was still new and bright to them and ever the light disturbed them but Glorfindel did not find himself longing for the darkness. In the silver slight the stars seemed more beautiful and numerous, illuminated but not eclipsed as they were in daytime.

"It will weary us, before it is done," Finrod said as they stood on the last rocky outcrop before the long glimmering expanse of white snow, radiating the daylight back at them. In the harsh light it was blinding and Glorfindel had to look away. "Light we have now, and we cannot hide our failures in darkness." In silence Fingolfin led them onto the ice, his horns no longer ringing. With each step in the white light Glorfindel glanced down, checking that both the twins were firmly by his mother's side in front of him. The time for wonder was over, there was little beauty on the Helcaraxë, the endless expanse of snow.

... ...

**A/N: Thanks to AmazingWriter123 for correcting my timeline errors with the Moon.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Glor?" He hushed Maltion again, pulling him closer. They were all cold, even the adults who did not feel it as the elflings did. Glorfindel realised that he was still young enough to shiver at the biting wind and snow. His mother carried Isowen in her arms, wrapped up within her cloak. At night they forsook any arguments and sat together by what little fire they could coax into burning, letting their bodies heat the twins.

The first death came four days into their march. It was a fall, an ellon who had yet to reach his majority stepped on ice that could not support his weight and fell below to the white blanket, laying there unmoving until his father picked him up. His cries could still be heard as he stayed on the outcropping, refusing to go on. There was nothing that could be done for him and no one would force him to keep walking. The column passed him by, silent in shared grief. The wind was as much a foe as the ice, taking the slighter elves if they were not close to hand. Blown over, many could not rise again on their own, or even with assistance. Some, mostly those at the head of the column, simply sat down and gave up as they saw the expanse ahead.

Glorfindel had no choice but to turn a deaf ear to Maltion's sobs and moans. Nothing he could do would warm his brother up, nor could he stop the wind from biting. Soon, they all knew, their provisions would run out for the greater part had been on the ships and was now lost. Fingolfin tried to ration it out but all conversation was halted as the roaring wind snatched their words away and news travelled slowly up and down the column. Some days Artanis would find him and carry Maltion a while, no longer bothering to speak out loud. Many did not have the power to converse without sound and after hours of hearing her say nothing except comments on the snow and her angry inner monologue cursing Fëanor and his sons, Glorfindel distanced his mind from hers.

There was one moment of tenderness in the long white hell that engulfed them. Huddled together to try and catch some respite, with the twins in their arms, Glorfindel found himself leaning his head into his mother's shoulder.

"We will make it," she whispered, directly in his ear so that he could hear her. "I promise you, Glor. We will make it." Somehow she managed to loop an arm around all three of her children at once, holding them close in what should have been a warm embrace if the wind did not steal all warmth from it. He could not cry, for tears froze, but he closed his eyes and pretended he was as young as Maltion again and the evil of Alqualondë had not come to pass. That there was nothing but caring between him and his mother and that he did not see blood on her hands and she cowardice in his face.

Ecthelion had held up eight fingers briefly, signifying that he alone had been counting the passing of the days. In the snow even the bright fire of Vasa did not lighten the hours yet he had counted them all the same. Eight days of marching had passed when Elenwë fell. Exhaustion, cold, by then hunger and a terrible weight on their shoulders no matter how light their packs were, caused her to slip into the snow. At once Glorfindel moved forward, Artanis holding Maltion, to pull her up. Turgon had her in his arms but her eyes were closed.

"Elenwë?" No shaking or caress to her pale face could rouse her, Turgon standing with his daughter and Glorfindel huddled close to keep the snow from Elenwë. Fingolfin ran to join his son, feeling for the pulse that would spark hope for them.

"Turgon." Vainly Fingolfin tried to pull the body from Turgon's hands. "She is gone."

"Mother!" Glorfindel gripped Idril, keeping her upright as she clung to him, sobbing. "No, it cannot be. Glor, please, help her." He pulled his cloak around her to keep her warm, for all the good it would do. Fingon and Argon held their brother, gradually his cries quietened. Glorfindel held back his tears for his aunt, knowing that Idril had need of him. The aunt who had lifted him high when his own mother was too harsh. He did not think of her, nor remember for he would not stand so strong if he did.

A shallow grave was quickly dug, as all the others had been buried in the same way. There were no stones with which to make a cairn as was their way. Turgon lay his wife down in the pit of ice, shaking as he did so and for a long moment Glorfindel thought his uncle would lay down beside her and give in.

"Do not leave her child here alone," Fingolfin said to him. "Stand and show your daughter the world Elenwë wished to see." His words had no effect and it seemed as if Turgon had not heard. Then he stood. Grief, Glorfindel had seen, in his mother's face when returning from Alqualondë. It was not as terrible as the despair and pain that masked his uncle's features.

"Idril," Turgon said, or rather they assumed that was what he said for no sound came from his lips. Glorfindel released his cousin and she ran, Turgon enveloping her in his arms.

"Come, we cannot linger," Finrod called. Gently he took Glorfindel's shoulder and led him along. Fingolfin and Fingon took charge of Turgon and Idril. "Let us find Arenwë," Finrod said in his ear, one arm around his shoulders. Glorfindel sighed, he did not wish to be the one who gave his mother the news that her sister was dead.

"Fëanor and his sons will find no friends among us when we reach the other side," Galadriel spat in his mind.

"Leave me be, Artanis." He did not want her anger inside his head, it was too full of grief.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

He barely noticed the end of the ice, it was only when he heard his footsteps change that he looked down and saw solid rock. No grass yet, they were still being attacked by snow and wind. It was however earth beneath them, not the unknown depths of ice. He no longer had the strength to smile, looking down at it with dull eyes. Maltion had slept in his arms for the last two days and Glorfindel wondered how long it would be before his brother refused to wake up. He shook him repeatedly until the small bundle stirred and he was slightly reassured. The change of surroundings went almost unnoticed by the column as they marched on. There was no triumphant arrival into Middle Earth, no trumpets or fanfare. Instead they simply walked on as Vasa descended towards the west. Just before the orb of Telperion's light rose again they made their first camp in Middle Earth, under the stars. Finally, exhausted and hungry they felt the snow let off briefly.

"We are here," Ecthelion murmured as they sat down in a circle, their wood for fires having run out weeks ago. Even his cheer had faltered, buried under the snow along with two of his cousins. "Now what?"

"Is there anything for me to give the twins?" Glorfindel asked instead. His mind had stopped thinking about larger things than ensuring that his family stayed alive.

"You have barely eaten in days, you cannot keep carrying them unless you-"

"Thel." There was no way he could put himself in front of the twins, however hungry and tired he was. Between them, he and his mother had managed to keep them as well fed as any of them, walking on empty stomachs themselves when the rations began to run out. Since her sister died Arenwë had lost a little more interest in taking care of herself, only parental instinct moved her to care for the twins.

"No. I am sorry, there is nothing. The snow has gone but this land is barren."

"Fëanor lied to us." Artanis had come upon them, her fire the only thing sustaining her. "There is nothing here. No rich lands or full valleys." Then they heard the trumpet, a single low note stretch through the emptiness. The sky began to lighten even as Fingolfin's trumpet blew the silver light they had seen on their march rising from the east, only further south than before, to cover the land in front of them. For the first time it illuminated more than just the ice and they could see Middle Earth.

"It is no barren land," Glorfindel said as they watched the silver light spill across the ground. Whether they had been there all along or not, tiny flowers opened up, grass was revealed beneath their feet and in the receding shadows they could see trees, forests and a river. He laughed, more a desperate sound of relief than anything. Artanis took his hand and the first smile since they were pelting each other with snow emerged, full and beautiful onto her face.

They did not have to wait long for the first foragers to return, bringing wild fruits and nuts and all manner of plants. Out of sympathy Idril had been given a honeycomb which she brought to the twins. It was a meagre feast and did not compare to even the simplest meal they would have had in Tirion, but it was the most wonderful fare they had ever had and although some cautioned them not to make haste their words were widely ignored and they did not feel up to walking again for they had eaten their full and they were used to sleeping under the silver light. So their tents went up, finally warm and it was with contented sighs they fell asleep instead of the frozen tears they had been accustomed to.

"Wake up, Glor." Ecthelion shook him awake with the help of the twins, both of whom were grinning. "Wake up, you great cat."

"Begone." He rolled over, content to sleep for another year if he could. Isowen instead pounced on him, her tiny fingers digging into his ribs so that he broke out in laughter. "Mischievous imp!" Within seconds the four of them had descended into fits of laughter that brought his mother running.

"Come now, children." They paused, knowing a scolding was to come. "You have forgotten how sensitive his feet are as well." Maltion took the hint and Glorfindel was helpless, at the mercy of them all as he fought for breath in between cackles.

"Stop! Stop, please! Mother! Make them stop!" The smile was half there, the light that had only now spilled across Middle Earth shone also into her.

"Alright, that is enough. Your brother will turn blue in a moment if you do not let him breathe." Glorfindel heaved in deep lung-fulls of air once the twins were pulled out of the tent by his mother. He sated suspiciously at Ecthelion as he lay down on the blankets next to him.

"I do not deserve that look. I brought you breakfast." The bowl of nuts was handed over and a cup of water that had somehow not been spilled during their play.

"My thanks."

"You deserve it. You have not seen yourself, Glor. You look terrible. Fingon told me to stay with you, he feared you would be one of the next to fall. You could not have kept carrying Maltion. He shall have to walk now while you recover your strength." To prove his point, Ecthelion pulled out Glorfindel's arm and forced him to look at the bones poking out from underneath the skin that was stretched taught over them. He had little to no muscle left and there was a tremble embedded deep in his hand so that he realised he could not hold it still. "Fingon said, those who cared for others on the ice will need caring for now. You, your mother and anyone else who carried another or fed them from their own plate, you are all spent, Glor." Glorfindel let himself lean back and feel his body for the first time since he had stopped thinking out on the ice. It ached and shook and as he ran a hand down his side he winced at the ribs that showed. Ecthelion was thin too, but perhaps not as much for although he had given much of anything that was his to his cousins or the twins, he had not given it all as Glorfindel had often done. "Really, it is my excuse to irk you by being a mother hen from now on." Glorfindel laughed. "We are moving again today, Fingolfin wants to get us away from the exposed coast and out of sight of the ice. It will be easier going now, though." He finished the food and Ecthelion helped him pack up the tent, loading it onto the makeshift sleds that had been built overnight. The twins found it amusing to pull it along so Glorfindel left them to it. He began to look around and search for people. How he had missed it he did not know, but his father's youngest brother had not made it off the ice, neither had one of his first cousins. Ecthelion's arm kept him upright and walking as the tears made warm tracks on his face. Others began to find their anger again, cursing Fëanor's name and more. All Glorfindel could find was a weariness that came from the aftermath of adrenaline, the low after weeks of hanging on with the last of his strength.

"Glor?" Turgon found him as they made an early camp, only a few hours after midday. His uncle knelt down next to him where Ecthelion had placed him by the fire. Turgon's face was more of a skull now and Glorfindel knew his would look no better. It was a warm hand that felt his forehead and patted down his hair gently. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. When do we stop, uncle? When are we... there?" They had reached Middle Earth yet still they walked on, banners flying proudly at the forefront of the host. Yet they had no destination now. No city or home to go to.

"Hush, there is a place we are heading towards but that is not for you to concern yourself with now. We have weeks of gentle walking in this lush land before we reach it. Strengthen yourself, tithen pen."

"Not so little anymore, uncle," Glorfindel protested with a smile.

"Yes you are. Even when you are a great lord, commander of armies and kings make way for you, when they sing your name and heed your counsel, you will still be a little one to me. So sleep now."

Artanis had to lean on Ecthelion in order to find him, from carrying Isowen half of the way she too had grown weak.

"Let us be weak and feeble and cared for together, Glor," she said, laying her head on his shoulder. "It is beautiful. Argon told me, he has gone forth with the scouts, for he is one of the strongest. It is beautiful out there. Wild, untamed, and ours. We have made it."

"Love you as I do, Artanis, please just let me sleep?" He did not actually dare ask her out loud, merely phrasing the question in fantasy.

"Fëanor and his sons will rue the day they left us to die. They have no friends here now. Not in Turgon, not in Fingon, and not in me." He made a noncommittal noise in response. "There must be others here, Glor. Teleri, Sindar, those who followed Elwë, those who stayed. I cannot wait for us to find them. They are my kin, my mother's people. I do so wish to see them. And you, Glor? You look worse than I do." He found himself being lain down, a blanket pulled over him like an elfling and Artanis sitting by his head. "Go to sleep," she ordered him. "I shall tell you more upon the morrow." She did not quite stroke his head and he was prepared to move away if she did. He was tired, but he had managed to scrape some sort of dignity together somehow, between Ecthelion's care and everyone else's worry.

"Artanis." She stopped the humming that was threatening to turn into a lullaby.

"Be quiet." Glorfindel pulled the blankets up around his face in the hopes that no one would realise it was he who was subject to her song. It did not work for he heard Ecthelion's over loud snort of laughter and he cursed having such distinctive hair that it might not be disguised when appropriate.

… …

**So this is the end of my NaNoWriMo. 50 000 words of fanfiction in a month. Updates may well be slower now but hopefully the quality will be less rushed. Thank you all for reviewing all month! Also to note, I'm working with two different publications of the Silmarillion here so the rising of the Sun and the Moon aren't exactly true to them both. It rose over the north pole first, as they have six months of summer and then of winter (ignore the laws of astrophysics here).**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

They marched unopposed through the countryside, keeping a good pace yet it was barely more than a stroll after the ice crossing. The land offered them more than enough food and the host grew stronger with each passing day. Ecthelion gradually stopped heaping Glorfindel's plate with food and following him around, although that changed little for they sought each other out for company. Idril did not smile, walking with her cousin instead of her father.

"You understand," she said simply when Glorfindel shot her a silent question. "You know the pain." So he did, it was only now that they were safe from hardship that he began to miss his father. Alqualondë seemed further and further behind them and although he was still prone to waking in terror it no longer occupied his every thought. His father was dead and as he looked at the fair land around them, Glorfindel regretted it for his father wished to see Middle Earth and he had not. Sometimes, when Idril broke into sobs once more, he wished that he could change places with his father and be dead so that they who had wanted to see the new lands could and he could be home again. Then Ecthelion would come with his infectious smile and all thoughts of that nature would go.

"There should be some sort of danger," Fingon said after a week or crossing the new land. "The Enemy lives in these lands and holds Fëanor's jewels. Why have we not come across him?" Glorfindel too had begun to wonder. Turgon took no part in his Father's councils, promoting Glorfindel to stand in his stead.

"Perhaps he dwells further to the south, or north? He may not be aware of our coming," he answered. Fingon shook his head, turning to his cousin.

"Finrod, tell him what the scouts saw."

"We have been observed, from afar, by what creatures we cannot tell but they are not elves." Glorfindel felt a chill run down his spine at the way Finrod spoke of their watchers. "He knows we are here, Glor, and he knows we are coming."

"Yet we do not know where his lair is," said Fingon with a scowl. "It is of no matter. We shall come across some folk who do soon enough. It is too rich here for no one to dwell in this land." Fingon looked him over carefully. "You look stronger. Strong enough to hold a sword?"

"If the need arose," answered Glorfindel. He had no wish to repeat Alqualondë and would think twice before pulling his blade out.

"Gather some others, those who seem strongest but have not been picked as scouts, and begin training with your blades. We will have need of warriors here."

"Go, Glor. All lords are already forming their companies," added Finrod. Glorfindel would more gladly take Finrod's word that Fingon's for the son of Finarfin had no blood on his hands. He nodded and took his leave of them, heading straight to find Ecthelion.

"Finrod bids me form a company of warriors for training," he said quietly. Neither had held a sword since Alqualondë, Ecthelion had had to clean his since then.

"Do you wish to ask me to form part of it?" Ecthelion asked, staring at the ground.

"We need everyone, Thel. If you want to, there will be a place for you."

"Because I have proven myself as a warrior in the only battle we have ever faced." Ecthelion spat and stalked away a few paces before turning around, his face creasing into a frown. "I regret it, and I am full of remorse. That is not enough, though, is it?" Glorfindel had to shut away his desire to say no. It was not enough to cancel out the wrongs inflicted on the Teleri, it was never going to be enough.

"Prove yourself now, as a valiant defender of our people and that will be sufficient," he answered. Ecthelion's frown faded and he looked distrustful. "Come, Thel. We need you, and everyone else. Come and train with me."

"To stop you hurting yourself, the clumsy oaf you are." Glorfindel put on a grin and slipped his arm through Ecthelion's.

"To stop Artanis hurting me," he corrected.

Artanis did not deign to join them. Instead Glorfindel cobbled together some two dozen elves, mostly nearer his own age or younger who still had some sort of enthusiasm for swordplay. Most were from Finrod's host and were blameless at Alqualondë. He did not bother with anything more complicated than pairing up and trying to hit each other. It had been months since he actually sparred with someone and he was still far weaker than Ecthelion.

"I think you are supposed to move your feet," Ecthelion said eventually after rapping his shins with the wooden stick. Glorfindel scowled at him and moved aside to land a blow on Ecthelion's shoulder.

"And I believe you are not meant to leave your body so open to attack." Around them floated the almost joyful banter of the partners, each reminding the others of things they had long since forgotten. Some changed to opponents that matched their ability but Glorfindel stayed with Ecthelion for they were almost evenly matched, once he was stronger they would be equals.

"Excuses," Ecthelion muttered as he voiced that opinion. "I am being gentle, Glor, for I know you are still little more than a skeleton. I will not be so kind when you are fitter." Glorfindel wiped the sweat from his face and nodded, too busy catching his breath to reply. "I think that is enough for you." He disliked being resigned to the side lines but gradually the others filtered off as well, each exhausted from marching and still weak.

"Let us hope we are all stronger when we do meet the Enemy," he muttered darkly a he leaned against Ecthelion. There was silence for a moment before he felt a cheerful nudge.

"Getting stronger starts with supper." Glorfindel laughed.

"You are incorrigible," he told Thel and received a grin in return.

"And hungry. Come." He was pulled gently to his feet and bundled towards the foragers and food.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

They found them soon enough, the elves of Beleriand. Glorfindel watched with Artanis as the three ash blond elves were led through the camp. They were short, far shorter than any of the Noldor and seemed to be painted in a different hue: darker but not richer.

"They are of Olwë's folk who did not follow him," she whispered. "Moriquendi." He did not point out that they were the people she hoped to meet and impress if she was to create anything worth having in the new lands.

"Can we get closer?" Glorfindel could not hide his excitement at meeting them. These strange folk who were their kin but had not seen Aman.

"No. My uncle bid us stay here, only he and Finrod will speak with them at first. We are great in number, he does not want to overwhelm them." Artanis paused, watching as they were ushered into the pavilion where Fingolfin kept his council. "Come, let us find those sticks of yours and spar, you look strong enough to stand up straight." He was stronger than that, strong enough to challenge Ecthelion now, but he nodded meekly.

It was hard to keep her attention, even when he was hitting her with a stick. He did not want to hurt her but her eyes kept going towards the pavilion and he eventually gave up on catching her off guard since there was no other way to catch her.

"Artanis?" She rapped him on the shin sharply in reply. "Are you going to- Ow!" She span around, her full attention on him suddenly. "Alright! Alright."

"What are they saying, Glor?" He stepped back as she came at him again. "I want to know what they are saying!" She snapped the stick in half against his ribs and he fell to the floor, wincing in pain. "Glor?" Gentle hands sat him up and he gripped his side. "I am sorry."

"I am glad you are on our side," he groaned and heard her laugh softly.

"I am sorry, coz." Her frustration was gone in an instant and she helped him up. "Are you alright?" He should have been expecting the blow, he should have parried, and failing that he should have withstood it. "You are still-"

"Weak, I know. Weak while the Enemy is out there and stronger than us." He pushed off her hand and stood on his own. "You are going to need another stick."

"Glorfindel." Her tone was full of warning but they both ignored it. He should not have carried on, and she should not have let him yet they did.

"Artanis!" Finrod came towards them and caught her make-shift sword mid-air. "Cease this. Come, our Uncle has need of us. You too, Glor. What have you been doing? You look rather worse for wear." Finrod straightened out his shirt and fussed for a moment before letting him go. "Come."

The three elves stood around the table that had been built in the pavilion, Fingolfin and Fingon beside them. Glorfindel was surprised to see Turgon lurking in the corner, he face drawn but focused. The Moriquendi had brought a map, at which they were pointing. He gazed at it, staring at the lay of the land. It was strange, he had never liked maps for they distorted things so that he was easily lost, but he could see the land around them and could judge where they were. It was vast, great forests spanning across the page and there, in the north, the dark outline of a fortress that needed no explanation.

"Angband," one of the ash blond ellith said. Their accents were watery, strange vowels and far less clear. "That is where you wish to go. We would warn against it, were it not for the light. All evil has withdrawn, there is nothing foul abroad." Glorfindel found a smile creeping onto his face, they had no resistance as they marched on the Enemy.

"We march there without delay. Glorfindel, how is the guard training?" He had not been bruised from Artanis' sparring session he would have felt some sort of pride at being asked by Fingolfin. Instead he had to take a second to find his voice.

"Well, my lord. Although we are not prepared for a battle yet." Turgon nodded approvingly at his caution from his corner.

"See that they are," Fingolfin said coldly and turned away to look at the map again. "Once again we march north." Every Noldo in the tent stiffened slightly. "Fingon, give the order to set out. We will knock at the Enemy's gate and let him know his doom has come." The Moriquendi were impressed, Glorfindel saw, watching them with large green eyes. Two ellith and an ellon, common rangers by their clothing yet the only elves they had seen in Middle Earth so far. Glorfindel looked at them with as much wonder as they looked at him.

"What of Fëanor?" Artanis asked. "Where is he?"

"To the south, Lady. Here." She pointed to a lake. "Here is their camp and we do not go to them for their steel is bright and we are weary of them." Rightly, Glorfindel thought as he edged towards Turgon.

"I will help you, little one," his uncle said quietly in a hollow voice. "We will rebuild this host into an army." Glorfindel nodded mutely, slightly worried at the dull strength in his uncle's voice. Turgon wanted to rebuild an army, he wondered what for. Fëanor's betrayal had cost Elenwë her life, Turgon would not put that behind him easily. "What have you done to yourself?" Turgon asked silently, gesturing to his rib.

"Artanis."

"You should know better, tithen pen, you have always gone up against opponents both larger and stronger than you."

"I am still growing!" he protested with a frown. He was sure he would outgrow Artanis, since she had stopped getting taller.

"Aye." His uncle's mind seemed weary and he turned again to the table and the Moriquendi.

"Doriath, Glor." Artanis was still speaking with her uncle but called to him silently.

"It means nothing to me."

"The name echoes in my mind. Doriath. It is there we must go." He sighed, still sore and unable to argue with her there.

"Is it not to me you must tell your plans," he told her.

"Oh hush, I do not need to tell anyone. I go wither I will and we shall see this Doriath and the king who did not come." Elwë. The leader who did not return with Finwë and Olwë to Valinor. Glorfindel mentally nodded, wondering if he would be expected to go with her. Turgon did not seem to be fixated by the forest, looking at the ground instead. "A Maia, Glor. Melian, one of the Ainur is Queen there. Tell me you will come with me?"

"I go where I am told," he answered simply.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

It was unmistakable, every nightmare combined by a storyteller into one place. He could not tell if it was a mountain or a fortress, only that darkness seeped from its walls and the silence was too complete to be natural. The gates themselves were higher than Tuna had been carved of rock it seemed for wood would have burnt in the heat. It was further north than any map the Moriquendi had, yet the heat of the smoke suffocated them, boiling in their lungs until they coughed and gasped, dreaming of fresh clean air again. Towards the dark stain on the horizon they marched, Fingolfin's entire host with their banners at the forefront and the trumpets playing loudly. It had none of the gaiety their march from Tirion had had yet none of the sadness either. At last they were confronting the enemy and they marched with purpose.

Glorfindel found himself leading an armed company on Turgon's flank, mirroring Ecthelion. Their part of the force marched behind Fingolfin and Fingon, Finrod and his brothers were their rear guard with all those who could not fight. Ahanion, his father's brother marched in the ranks without the honour of a position, he was neither Captain nor Sergeant for Glorfindel doubted he would be obeyed if he placed his uncle above any other elf. He could feel the glare of the golden eyes on his back as he marched. His mother marched too, but she would not submit to her son and instead was part of Turgon's main host.

The silence endured, no fell beast was seen and no force marched out to meet them, the fortress of Angband seemed deserted. Yet it was huge and Glorfindel did not think they could take it, if it had but half a dozen defenders only. With each step they felt dread enter their hearts. The mountain housed evil, it was beneath their feet and it turned the air into a poisoned fume. Even the lights in their faces, the life that shone out of the elves dimmed in that place. He had an expression of stern determination fixed in place as Angband loomed above them, hiding the mixture of terror and exhilaration. They halted on Fingolfin's order and the Captains hurried forwards to his banner.

"Come here, both of you." Turgon beckoned Glorfindel and Ecthelion to his side, and thus flanked approached his father and brothers. The shadow of Angband glared at them for daring to go so near and Glorfindel swallowed hard as he finally stepped forwards out of the light. For the briefest moment he held Ecthelion's eye and caught the wink. It kept his back straight as Fingolfin turned to them.

"Finrod, Fingon, follow me. We shall throw our challenge to the Enemy and beat upon his gates. Turgon, remain and watch for a threat. It would do us no good to have every branch cut down at once."

"Stay here," Turgon ordered, turning his back on his father as the three rode forwards with their own companies. Glorfindel could see the pain there as his uncle could not bear to watch his kin ride forwards to the Enemy. Even as he watched his uncle, Glorfindel never took his eyes off the group that marched forwards, trumpets loud against the silence of the shadow. Artanis caught his sleeve as she passed.

"The plain is drowned in the blood and tears of the Eldar not yet shed," she whispered and let him pass. He gripped his sword, waiting for the onslaught he was sure would come as the gates were opened. It had to come. The Enemy would not let them challenge him without mounting an attack. Yet nothing happened and Fingolfin's trumpet sounded three long clear blasts that echoed off the fortress. The earth trembled with the sound of the mighty horn of the son of Finwë yet no response was heard. The only sound that followed was of the three rams of wood Fingon had crafted and carried north that smote upon the gates.

They waited. Angband was silent, the last echoes of the trumpets fading slowly into the rock. Still, the Noldor waited. Until, at last, Fingolfin turned and his company marched back to the host, banners high in the smoke.

"We go back," Fingolfin said. "The might of Morgoth in Angband will not fall to trumpets alone, nor to the strength we have here. Let us go and rest and become strong again."

"Mithrim?" asked Turgon. "To Fëanor." There was coldness in his voice that turned the hot air around them icy.

"To rest, my son." Fingolfin turned to his other sons and to Finarfin's house. "Argon, Artanis, take the van. Fingon, you and I shall watch for the attack that may follow us."

"I will not go to him, father," spat Turgon angrily. "I will not seek Fëanor out, lest it be to slay him." Their collective intake of breath was audible, each elf present staring at Turgon and the shadow his words brought into the darkness of their surroundings.

"Never shall you speak of that again." Fëanor's voice could change, it could turn from honey to rage to ice in an instant, and so could his brother's for Fingolfin stared his son down and standing by his side Glorfindel felt as if he was being cut at as well. "I have no love of them, neither Fëanor nor his sons for it was their deeds that led us to the ice. Yet I shall not return their cruelty in kind, Turgon, and nor shall you wish us to." Finarfin's children scattered, Finrod and his brothers retreating to the unarmed host they had to guard, Artanis taking Argon with her as she too departed for her task. Slowly, Fingolfin took his son's hand and embraced him. "Hush, little one. Your wounds are great, do not seek to inflict them upon another. We go to Mithrim to rest, for the mountains there will protect us as they protect Fëanor. We do not go to him, nor any of his kin. Not now, not ever. Fëanor has forsaken his friends, and what he could have once called family. Perhaps we are doomed, as we were told for being divided thus but it was not our doing." Fingolfin kissed his son's head and pushed Turgon back. "Come, you need rest."

"No rest will dull the pain." Fingolfin could only sigh as his son left, Glorfindel and Ecthelion trailing behind.


End file.
